Dinner
by iscariot
Summary: when food attacks:  Man of Misunderstanding universe - sort of


_I apologise for this – a review for a Man of Misunderstandings sent me off into this parallel universe. It's too daft for the real story and I can't get the idea out of my head – it's not a great idea, but it could be worse and some of the puns/ references are sporadically amusing. _

_Yes, I know, it's horrifically self-indulgent [but what else is fanfic?]_

_Not beta-ed. Barely proofed – forgive me, I know not what I do... well I do, but I am trying to find a way to blame someone else ... maybe I should add some long words_

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_Britain's last execution by salmonella poisoning:_

_The hearty man ate a condemned breakfast._

_The Two Ronnies_

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"What's for lunch?" Jayne inquired of his colleague as he took his place at the staff table in the cafeteria."

"Bork."

"Bork?"

"Yes. Someone asked the chef what was for lunch and he replied 'bork bork bork'; so we think that's what for lunch."

"Sounds ... interes ..." Jayne's sentence was abruptly severed mid-phrase as a dish was placed in front of him; the substance on the plate glowered quietly at him as if daring Jayne to come near it with a utensil.

Jayne, very carefully, and keeping his hands in full view of his plate, sat back from the table.

"Mister Cobb?" Came a jovial inquiry from the head of the table, "Is something wrong? You're not eating your lunch."

"I'm not sure it's dead, headmaster," replied Jayne.

"You're not sure what's dead or, for that matter, not dead?" asked the headmaster.

"My lunch."

Further inquiry into the animate status of Jayne's repast was halted by a disturbance originating from the students' section of the cafeteria; it appeared that several students had been backed into a corner by a portion of their lunch that bore a remarkable resemblance to a sausage ...

... onna stick ...

Belying his [substantial] size, Jayne was across the room in seconds and bodily interposed himself between the students and the predatory sausage.

For its part, the sausage did nothing.

"You," called Jayne, indicating, with a vague wave of his hand, one of the cafeteria staff, "Come here."

Displaying the sense of urgency - and wiliness to help - of a New Yorker witnessing a crime scene a shabbily be-uniformed figure sauntered over. "Yes?"

"What is the meaning of this?"

"Meaning? It's a sausage; I don't think sausages have meaning at least not in any runic, astrological or thaumaturgic system of which I am aware. Nor do I think it's a portent of anything in particular although I could ask Mavis, she'd know." The minion turned and bellowed in the direction of the kitchen.

"Mavis? You know anything about sausages?"

"You eat them."

"Anything else?"

"What people get up to in the privacy of their own homes is none of my business."

Seeing the slightly homicidal look on the face of their interrogator the cafeteria worker tried again. "Ummm, Mavis, I'm not sure the gentleman wants a generic description of the potential uses for a sausage, I believe he was being somewhat more specific."

"Was he now?" came the response; albeit closer now as a (somewhat) bent figure haphazardly approached the group. "Can I ask what sort of precision the gentleman was after?"

"Well..." Jayne started, only to be stopped dead by a face that appeared to have been on the receiving end of a series of unfortunate events. "That is to say that..."

"You was wondering why a sausage from kitchen has a herd of yon children backed up against a wall."

Somewhat against his will, Jayne nodded, "Something like that."

"Don't rightly know," came the response, "Perhaps it was something they said."

"So, you're not only implying that a sausage from your kitchen reacted to a verbal cue but that it is standard behaviour for said comestible to react in such a fashion."

"Eh?"

"I think he's askin' if it's normal for the sausages to get upset when they're spoken to"

Mavis shrugged "Only if they don't like what they're hearing, otherwise they're normally pretty peaceable."

"But they're perfectly alright with being eaten" muttered Jayne, sarcastically. Horrified images passed through his mind of a sausage petting zoo with instructions to the patrons not to talk to the sausages in case the sausage went on a rampage and injured members of the paying public. Before his memory could conjure even more bizarre images of a sausage circus with trained sausages jumping through hoops he was interrupted by the Headmaster Doom's mellifluous intrusion.

"I have found, Mister Cobb, that there are some things that are better left alone."

"Predatory sausages, for example?"

"Something like that," acknowledged the headmaster. "As with all educational institutions, we find that it is sometimes necessary not to peer too closely into the internal operations of our contracted suppliers?"

"Contracted suppliers?"

"In this instance, the catering company that supplies and runs the school cafeteria. While the references and _bona fides _provided by the company were impeccable we have found that our dealings with Dibbler and Todd do not always course the smoothest, or most expected, path."

"I must admit to some confusion, Headmaster; surely the provision of food to the students and staff should be a straightforward process."

Doom regarded his younger colleague [somewhat] pityingly. "You would think so, wouldn't you? However, while the board of education sets minimum standards with regards to the quality of the food – pertaining to things like freshness, lack of disease, minimum nutrient levels – there is nothing within said guidelines that relates to how the catering company chooses to implement such."

"So, if I understand you correctly, the food provided could – theoretically – as long as it meets the standardised nutritional and health guidelines, launch a premeditated assault on the diners in a given educational institution and the catering company wouldn't be liable?"

Doom shrugged, "Something like that."

"So how do deal with situations that arise."

"You learn to dodge, Mister Cobb, you learn to dodge."

"That's all well and good for myself, Headmaster, and perhaps also for you, but not for the children," at least not some of the children in my class, he added silently. "I think you should consider, Headmaster, that while some of the children are indeed extremely intelligent and uniquely talented (in ways that give me the creeping horrors) many of them are so spectacularly uncoordinated that they can barely catch a cold; frankly, I wouldn't hold out much for their chances of evading a predatory foodstuff."

"I assure you, Mister Cobb, none of the foodstuffs supplied by Dibbler and Todd have acted in any fashion that could be considered predatory; the children have been threatened only in cases of insult or self-defence..."

"...And that makes it alright?"

"It makes it legal..."

"I don't find that particularly reassuring. In future I'm bringing my lunch to work and I'm going to make sure it's dead beforehand – even if I have to kill it myself."

"That is your right, Mister Cobb, just don't let the union hear about it."

"The caterers union?"

"Heavens no, Mister Cobb, the food union..."


End file.
